11: What Child is This?

The weekend was quiet, but not in a good way. Most of the Elves seemed to be walking on eggshells, as Mithrellas put it, the events of Friday night still present in everyone’s mind. The Wiseman Elves seemed more upset about it than those of Valinor and Finrod suspected they were feeling embarrassed. Finrod found that he and Glorfindel tended to avoid one another. Not deliberately, he realized, for Glorfindel was busy playing Elf Guide all weekend, but he did not invite Finrod to accompany him and Finrod felt depression settling over him again. He spent most of Saturday in idleness, mostly resting, for his shoulder ached and the back of his head felt tender. All of his healers insisted he spend the day quietly, and so he retired to the library and picked out one of the paperback mystery books belonging to Glorfindel, losing himself in the world of medieval England and someone named Cadfael, who appeared to be quite observant of human nature. The others left him alone, though both Findalaurë and Nielluin looked in on him from time to time and when he decided to take a walk in the woods behind the mansion, they accompanied him. As they did not spend the time chattering he did not mind, the three walking softly as only Elves can, quietly communing with the trees and stopping to pass the time of day with a herd of elk passing through.

Sunday morning, Daeron did take some time to help him fill out the application form, the two of them sitting at the breakfast nook. As they were putting the finishing touches on ‘Quinn O’Brien’s ersatz history’, as Daeron called it, Finrod spoke.

“I am supposed to discover the true meaning of Christmas, but so far I have not had much luck.”

Daeron gave him a considering look. “What do you know of Christmas?”

“Beyond the fact that it is a time of gift-giving and charity, I am not sure. Fionwë said that there was a gift in the stable, but he did not tell me what that gift is. Do you know?”

“I know what the Christians believe was the gift, but I do not know if what they believe is true or not.”

“What do they believe?”

Daeron hesitated for a moment, looking suddenly uncertain. “Perhaps it would be better for you to learn that on your own, Finrod. That was, after all, the task given you by Fionwë.”

“Perhaps I should ask the Mortals, then.” Finrod sighed, closing his eyes briefly, rubbing the space between them.

“Perhaps you should.” There was a pause and Finrod opened his eyes to see Daeron giving him a searching look. “You’re depressed and I do not think you have slept well lately.”

“I did not sleep at all the last two nights even though I find I am in need of it more than usual as I recover from my wound,” Finrod averred. “I had too much to think on. Glorfindel’s reaction to my news was… disheartening. This is not what I had envisioned our reunion would be like.”

“I doubt Loren thought it would be like this either,” the loremaster said. “When we received the message that help would come, and to go to Wild Lake, we had no idea who it would be or from where. I actually thought that perhaps we would find some other Elves who never Sailed camping there or something. Last thing I expected was to see Vingilot come in for a landing with you lot on board.” He grinned and Finrod grinned back.

“Thank you for your help,” Finrod said, taking the filled-out application form and folding it. He started to stand.

Daeron held out a hand to stay him and Finrod gave him an enquiring look. The loremaster smiled sympathetically. “It will work out. It always does. For so long….” He shrugged. “Well, neither here nor there. All I want to say is that Loren’s been under a great deal of stress lately and he has not been handling things as well as he or we would like, but never doubt his love for you. He looks up to you, more than you realize. I cannot tell you how many times he asked himself what you would do in a certain instance before making his own decision. You were always the model by which he judged his own actions.”

“I did not know that,” Finrod said, feeling somewhat disturbed by what Daeron was telling him.

“And now you do.” Daeron glanced at the microwave clock and sighed, getting up. “Well, I must leave you. I am due at the Lightfoot Reindeer Farm in a couple of hours. If I leave now, I’ll be there in plenty of time, assuming the weather holds.”

“I do not sense any storm,” Finrod said, standing as well.

“Neither do I, but I’ve lived here long enough not to discount the possibility that one will come up suddenly and without any real warning. You will be all right?”

“Yes, of course. I think I will go into town. Finda was telling me that he and his gwedyr wished to learn to ice skate and are taking lessons today. Perhaps I will join them.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Daeron said with a smile. “When we were living in Holland, we often skated along the canals during the winter. It was the easiest way to get anywhere around Amsterdam. Do you want me to drop you off? I will be going that way, anyway.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.”

****

Daeron dropped Finrod off in front of the Safeway and waved as he sped off. Finrod waved back and then turned to look about. It was only about ten in the morning. The sky was cloudless and the stars shone brightly, though to the east it was beginning to brighten with the coming dawn. The air was crisp without being too cold. He walked across the parking lot to where the skating rink was set up. Christmas music floated in the air. To his left was a wooden booth where one could rent skates. There was also a concession stand to his right and the smell of hot dogs and hot chocolate was in the air. This early on a Sunday morning there were only a few people skating. He saw his son and his gwedyr already on the ice, taking tentative steps, trying to keep their balance, while a couple of Mortals, skating backwards, encouraged them. Calandil suddenly waved his arms in a frantic manner and then ended up landing on his rump, uttering a profanity in Quenya that had Findalaurë and Elennen laughing while the Mortals looked on in amusement. Calandil turned red as he struggled to regain his feet, one of the Mortals lending him a hand up, giving him instructions on how to keep his center of gravity low.

“Do you want to give it a try?”

Finrod looked to his left to see Gloria Richards there with another Mortal whom Finrod recalled was named Matt. He had an arm around Gloria’s waist in a proprietary manner. They both were carrying skates. Finrod smiled. “It does look a bit tricky.”

“You never skated?” Matt asked. “I’m surprised you Elves never came up with the idea.”

“When we are capable of walking on top of the snow, why would we?” Finrod replied with a laugh. “But if you are willing to teach me, I am willing to learn.” He gave them a conspiratorial wink. “After all, I do not wish to be outdone by my son.” He nodded toward Findalaurë who was making his way around the rink, apparently having figured out the trick of staying upright on the thin blades. Calandil and Elennen were not far behind.

“Let’s find you a pair of skates, then,” Gloria said and the three went over to the skate rental booth. It took a few minutes for them to find the right size and then they were sitting on a bench, removing their boots and putting on the skates. Matt told Finrod to be sure to lace the skates as tight as possible. Gloria finished putting on her skates first and stood up and then Matt was standing as well. Finrod felt a bit awkward as he attempted to stand with the two Mortals lending him their hands to help steady him.

“It’s a weird feeling, I know,” Matt said. “The trick is to keep your knees slightly bent. Not that far. Good. Just about there.” He pointed at Finrod’s midriff. “Lean slightly forward so that your center of gravity lies just below your belly button. Okay, now we’re going to walk to the ice. Gloria, you take his arm.” Matt took a few steps away from the bench and slid onto the ice, moving confidently and turning to face Finrod and Gloria. “Easy now. Take your time.”

“Atto!”

Finrod looked up to see his son skating by and waving. He tried to slow down, no doubt wishing to join him, but apparently miscalculated and the next thing he was flailing his arms about and then landing hard on the ice. One of the Mortals who had been acting as a teacher came up, stopping without any effort, and held out a hand to help the ellon up. Findalaurë looked rather embarrassed.

“Continue with your own lessons, yonya,” Finrod called out in Quenya, “and do not worry for me.”

Findalaurë just nodded and gave the Mortals a sheepish look. Gloria and Matt grinned. “Falling is part of the process of learning,” Matt said as he began skating backwards while Gloria showed Finrod how to move. “I’m sure you all will be first-rate skaters in no time.”

Finrod had his doubts about that as he flailed about for the next half hour or so, but both of his teachers assured him that he was doing just fine and soon enough he was skating, if slowly, around the rink with the others. He did fall twice along the way, but the second time he was able to stand on his own and start skating again. After that, his confidence grew and he and the others spent another hour skating. Finrod marveled at the feeling of freedom the skates gave him.

“Next we’ll have to teach you how to ski,” Matt said at some point when the three of them decided to take a rest. Gloria offered to get them all some hot chocolate and Matt stated he was hungry and wanted a hot dog as well. Finrod suddenly realized that he, too, was feeling hungry and so the three of them ended up at the concession stand still in their skates munching on hot dogs and potato chips and downing hot chocolate.

By now, the rink was filling up with skaters. Finrod watched his son and his two gwedyr taking a break from skating, speaking with several young Mortals who had just arrived, carrying their own skates. Finrod recognized Jack Whitman, the mayor’s son, among them. The three ellyn conversed easily with Jack and the others, laughing at something one of them was saying. Once the Mortals had their skates on, everyone headed onto the ice. It was obvious to Finrod from the way Findalaurë and his gwedyr acted that they were enjoying the company of the Mortals. It was so different from when they had first arrived and how the three had treated Alex and Derek.

“What can you tell me about Christmas?” he asked suddenly.

Matt choked on his hot chocolate and Gloria pounded him on his back even as she asked her own question. “And what about Christmas do you wish to know?”

“Whatever you are willing to tell me about its true meaning, beyond gift-giving and charity and wishes for peace in the coming year.”

“Well, its true meaning is rather hard to explain if you don’t know certain history which goes back some six thousand years,” Gloria said. “How much time do you have to listen to an explanation?”

“All the remaining ages of Arda,” Finrod responded with a grin, “but I doubt you can say the same.”

Both Mortals gave him surprised looks, which transmuted into something more thoughtful as they took in the import of his words.

“Well… um… it shouldn’t take that long,” Matt said, “but it’s not something I feel qualified to explain with any authority.”

“Who is?” Finrod asked.

“Any of the priests or ministers,” Gloria answered. “You might try St. Mary of the Snows. The pastor there is known to be something of a biblical scholar and he can explain things better than we can.”

“Hmm… Thank you,” Finrod said, nodding, then he finished drinking his hot chocolate, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. “I am ready for more skating. What about you?”

The two young Mortals grinned and soon they were joining the other skaters on the ice.

****

After another hour or so of skating, Finrod had had enough. His shoulder was now aching again and he had a slight headache centered in the back of his head, which was still feeling tender. He returned his skates, thanking Matt and Gloria for the lessons and fellowship. When he told Findalaurë that he was going home his son offered to join him, but Finrod declined.

“I can tell you are enjoying the company of your friends from the Academy. You need not leave them on my account. I will see you back in Edhellond later.”

He crossed over to the square and headed down a side street that would bring him out onto Kodiak. Sycamore, where Edhellond was located, was another half mile. He came to an intersection and realized that the church Gloria had mentioned was across the street from him. It was an imposing gray stone structure with what he thought was a bell tower. The windows were stained glass. In the front was a statue of a Woman and he had to assume it was this Mary after whom the church was named. As he stood there, a Man came out the front door of the church and headed to a smaller stone building next to it, clearly a residence. Even bundled up against the cold, Finrod recognized him as the Man who had spoken at his Court, refuting Tom Peterson. He had been dressed strangely in black, Finrod recalled, and afterwards Finrod had asked Glorfindel about him.

On a sudden impulse, he crossed the street with the intention of intercepting the Man. “Excuse me, sir,” he said politely, giving the Man a slight bow, “might I have a word with you?”

The Man stopped in his tracks and gave Finrod a friendly look. “Ah, yes. You’re the king.”

“Once, a long time ago,” Finrod replied, shaking his head, giving him a rueful look. “I am not a king any longer. I gave up my crown.”

“I’m Father Waverly, but everyone calls me Father Charlie.” The priest held out his hand and Finrod shook it.

“Father?”

“It’s a title of respect. If you’re uncomfortable with it just call me Charlie. But what can I do for you, your Highness?”

“Finrod, please. Or Quinn, if you prefer. That’s my Mortal name, Quinn O’Brien. I left my titles behind in Aman, for I knew before I came here that they would mean nothing to any of you.”

“But that doesn’t sit well with you, does it?”

Finrod looked at the priest in surprise. “How did….?”

Waverly smiled faintly. “As pleasant as the day may be, it’s much too cold to be standing out here jawing. Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me what is troubling you, for I can see that you are troubled.”

Finrod hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. I would like that. Thank you.” He followed the priest to his residence and soon found himself sitting in an overstuffed chair beside a cozy wood-burning stove sipping on some peppermint tea. Father Waverly settled in a rocking chair with his own cup while a black and white tabby — “That’s Nimrod, for he is a mighty hunter before the Lord” — lay curled up on the rug before them fast asleep.

For several minutes neither spoke. Finrod gazed contentedly into the fire, sipping on his tea. Father Waverly rocked gently. Finally, Finrod turned to him. “You live alone?”

The priest nodded. “Oh, during the week this place is a hive of activity, this being the rectory. Offices are in the back part of the house. I have a housekeeper, Mrs. Burnstein. She’s Jewish.” He gave Finrod a grin that he could not interpret. The priest, apparently realizing Finrod did not understand his amusement, shrugged. “Anyway, she goes home to her husband every evening. She generally has the weekends off, though she comes in on Sunday morning while I’m busy at the church to put together my dinner. I just have to heat it up when I’m ready to eat. But we are not here to discuss my domestic arrangements, are we?”

“No.”

“You obviously wished something from me,” Waverly said. “You said you gave up your titles and your crown when you came here, knowing that in America they would do you no good. Yet, I sense that you are not happy about that.”

“Perhaps, but it is something I must get used to and actually there is a type of freedom of not having everyone bowing to you, literally and figuratively. I wished to speak with you on another matter entirely.”

At Waverly’s nod of encouragement, he continued. “I have been challenged to learn the true meaning of Christmas. None of the Elves who have lived in Middle-earth all these millennia are able or willing to tell me about Christmas other than that it is a season of gift-giving and charity. I asked a couple of Mortals whom I know about it, but they insisted that they were not qualified to explain. In fact, I was told that I would need to know the last six thousand years of history before I could begin to understand.”

“Well, not exactly,” Waverly said, “but close enough. What you need to know is a certain kind of history about a certain group of people, the Jews.” He paused, frowning slightly in thought, then he glanced at Finrod. “It might be better to show you than to tell you, if you’re up to a short walk.”

“Where do we go?”

“Just to the church.”

Finrod nodded and in a few minutes, they were crossing over to the church and entering. It was larger than the Interfaith Chapel Fionwë had taken him to. They climbed the steps and entered a foyer where a large stone-carved font stood in the center filled with water. Doors along one side opened up into the sanctuary and when Waverly turned on the lights, Finrod saw a raised dais at the other end with a large table, much like in the chapel, before which were four fat candles surrounded by greenery. Three of the candles were a deep blue but one was pink. On the wall behind it hung a larger-than-life statue of a man in a flowing robe with his arms outstretched in a welcoming manner and, unlike the chapel, the stained-glass windows showed actual scenes. There were also a couple of statues in niches on either side of the doors, one of a young Woman holding a flower — a lily, Finrod realized — while the other statue was of a Man holding what appeared to be a carpenter’s plane.

Finrod pointed to the statue behind the altar. “Who is that?”

“Ah… well, we’ll get to him eventually,” Waverly said. “Let’s start with these windows first.” He gestured to the left and the two walked over to one of the stained-glass windows. “This church was built in the early twenties, not long after the town was founded. These windows were a gift from a very wealthy patron who commissioned the scenes. He was very particular about which scenes from the Bible were to be illuminated.”

“What exactly is this bible? I remember it being mentioned at my Court but I failed to ask about it.”

“Ah, I’ll show you when we return to the rectory, but it’s essentially our holy book which narrates the history of the Jewish people and their relationship with God.”

“Eru, we call him, the One.”

Waverly nodded. “In the Jewish religion, they have a prayer called the Shema.” He then spoke in a language unknown to Finrod. “Sh’ma, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. Hear, O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One. Now, this window here tells a very well-known story in biblical history. The older man is Abraham and that’s his son, Isaac.”

“It looks as if he’s about to sacrifice his own son,” Finrod said, scowling in disgust. “I understand sacrificing children to Morgoth was a common practice among the Easterlings.”

“Yes, and common in certain cultures six thousand years ago,” Waverly said.

“But Eru would never….”

“Ah… and that’s the point. See that figure in the upper corner?”

“That ridiculous looking person with wings?”

Waverly chuckled. “That ridiculous looking person with wings is an Angel of the Lord.”

Finrod gave the priest a surprised look. “No self-respecting Maia would ever be caught wearing wings!”

Laughter echoed through the church and both Finrod and Waverly looked about, trying to identify the source. Finrod had a pretty good idea who it might be but the priest looked somewhat flustered, even afraid. Finrod gave him a sympathetic grin and called out. “Would you care to join us, my Lord Fionwë?”

There was the mingled scent of apples and mint and then a shape formed itself in the center aisle and Fionwë appeared…with wings. They were the wings of a golden eagle and their feathers swept the floor. The Maia wore a smirk. Finrod rolled his eyes. Waverly just gaped in open astonishment.

“You forget, Findaráto, as pure spirit, I can assume any shape I wish,” Fionwë said, making his way down the aisle to join them.

“I still say they look ridiculous,” Finrod retorted with a sniff and Fionwë laughed again, his form shifting so that he was now in his ‘Finn’ disguise, complete with blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. The Maia gave them a merry look.

“Be at peace, Charles,” he said warmly to the priest, who looked a bit shocked. “You have naught to fear. I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë, though you may call me Finn.”

“Ah… er… welcome… um….”

“It is well, my friend,” Finrod said sympathetically, patting the priest on the arm. “Now, you were telling me the story behind this window.”

Waverly visibly pulled himself together and nodded. “Yes, the window. There are many interpretations about this event. Child sacrifice was common and Abraham originally came from a culture where such did occur. As you can see, the…er… angel is clearly telling Abraham not to sacrifice his son and the Jews used animals as sacrifices instead.”

“Why sacrifice at all?” Finrod asked, puzzled. “Did they think Eru needed them to kill innocent children or even animals for Him? He never required us to do so, nor did the Edain who lived among us. I am told that Sauron instituted the practice among the Númenóreans when they fell under his dominion.”

“It is part of what we call Salvation History,” Waverly explained. “You have to understand that our conception of God has changed over time. Six thousand years ago, indeed just two thousand years ago, sacrificing to God or the gods, as the pagans did, was a common practice, believing that in doing so, God was appeased.”

“Appeased?” Finrod turned to Fionwë with a frown.

The Maia shook his head. “The Jews believed that Men had fallen from Eru’s grace, turning away from Him and that sacrificing goats or lambs was an outward sign of their remorse for their sins.”

“It’s a very complicated socio-religious dynamic,” Waverly said, “but Christianity, which grew out of Judaism, came to a particular conclusion as to the purpose of sacrifice.”

“And what conclusion was that?” Finrod asked.

“We’ll get to that soon enough, but I want to show you a few of these other windows first. This one, for instance.” The three moved up the side aisle, skipping the next window, which showed a Man apparently wrestling with a winged person — Finrod refused to think of it as a Maia — and stopping in front of a window where an old Man held two stone tablets. “His name is Moses the Lawgiver,” Waverly said. “A time came when the Hebrews, the ancestors of today’s Jews, were enslaved by the Egyptians, at that time the most powerful nation in the world. God delivered the Hebrews out of slavery through Moses, who codified the laws by which the people would live, laws which were handed down to them by God. We know them today as the Ten Commandments.”

“We call such laws axani,” Finrod commented, “laws that primarily proceed from Eru rather than from ourselves.”

Waverly nodded. “At any rate, God, through Moses, led the Israelites, as they called themselves, to their former homeland and eventually after many centuries, the twelve tribes formed a kingdom under this man.” They had moved further up the aisle to where Finrod saw a young Man playing on something that looked like a harp. “This is David, the second king of Israel.”

“The second? Who was the first?”

“Ah, well, we don’t speak of him too much,” Waverly said with a sly grin. “Didn’t work out.”

Finrod stole a glance at Fionwë who grinned knowingly, then returned his attention to the window, while Waverly explained it. “David was no paragon of virtue, believe me, but he had one saving grace. When he messed up and was called on it, he repented and tried to make amends. God promised David that his House would never fail and from his House would come the Messiah — the word means, ‘the Anointed One’ — who would establish God’s kingdom here on Earth.”

“And did he?” Finrod asked.

“There is the controversy. The Jews say ‘no, not yet’, and the Christians say ‘yes, sort of’. But keep in mind these three figures, Abraham, Moses and David. They are the pillars of Jewish history. Abraham came from a pagan culture, one that worshiped a multitude of gods, but God called him out of Ur and he and his descendants worshiped only the one true God… usually. The Israelites tended to slide back into paganism every once in a while, but for the most part they were the only people who were monotheists. Anyway, Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt and brought them the laws by which they lived, by which many of us still live, and David established a kingdom. It did not last, but the promise was there that one day the Davidic kingdom would be reestablished. So, let’s move over to the other side.”

They crossed over, Waverly stopping long enough to genuflect when they reached the center aisle before going to the other side and then travel down until he stood before a particular window. “I’ve skipped a lot of history. About three thousand years separate Abraham from David and then there is another thousand years, more or less, after David that I didn’t cover but during that time the fortunes of the Jews fell afoul of larger, more aggressive nations. The end result was that two thousand years ago, they were subjugated by the Romans who pretty much took over a good portion of Europe, Africa and Asia. Their empire stretched from Spain to India. The Jews longed for the Messiah, who they believed would come as a warrior-king, throw the Romans out of Palestine, the name of their country at the time, and reestablish David’s kingdom, ultimately to rule the world.”

“Obviously that hasn’t happened,” Finrod couldn’t help saying, raising an eyebrow.

“Depends on your definition,” Waverly said with a slight grin. “So, that’s where matters stood two thousand years ago when, according to the Christians, something remarkable happened.”

“What?”

Waverly nodded at the window which showed a young Woman dressed in blue and before her was one of those winged beings. “That’s Mary.”

“The one after whom this church is named?”

“Yes.”

“And the angel?”

“Gabriel.”

“Actually her name was Melyanna,” Fionwë said, grinning hugely.

“Melian?!” Finrod exclaimed, then he narrowed his eyes. “Wait! She disappeared for a number of years. No one knew where and the Valar wouldn’t say. Even Elu Thingol had no idea where she went. And when she finally returned, she refused to speak of it.”

“Er… who’s this Melian?” Waverly asked, looking confused.

Fionwë nodded toward the window. “Gabriel. That’s the name your ancestors gave her since I don’t think she bothered to name herself to Miriam.”

“Miriam? I thought her name was Mary.” Now it was Finrod’s turn to be confused and to his amusement both Waverly and Fionwë sighed. It was Fionwë who supplied an answer. “Mary is how Miriam was rendered in English. The Mortals who recorded the events that Charles has told you about gave names to those of us who were sent by the Valar and Eru to deal with them, for we did not reveal our own names.” He paused, chuckling. “Manveru and Erunáro, for instance, are known to the Mortals as Michael and Uriel.”

Waverly gaped at the Maia. Finrod simply raised an eyebrow. “So, Melian came to Mary,” he said. “Why?”

Fionwë and Waverly exchanged looks and when the Maia nodded, Waverly spoke. “Basically, the angel had a proposition for Mary. She was to bear the Messiah, if she was willing. She said yes.”

“I get the feeling there’s more to it than that,” Finrod said.

“Much more, but this is where it gets a bit complicated,” the priest said. “Mary was still a virgin, although legally married to this man over here, whose name was Joseph.” He pointed to his left where Finrod saw a Man with an obviously pregnant Mary. “According to the Christians, Mary bore a son, but not by Joseph.”

“Who then?”

“God.”

Finrod glanced at Fionwë whose expression was now unreadable to him, then looked at Waverly. “I… I am not sure I understand.”

“According to the Christians, God entered into human history two thousand years ago in the person we know as Jesus of Nazareth.” He nodded to the statue behind the altar. “That’s him there. Gabriel came to Mary and asked if she would agree to bear God’s own Son. She said yes and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Finrod stared at the statue for a long moment, then turned his attention back to the window before which they stood, trying to grasp the enormity of what the Man was saying. He felt Fionwë place a hand on his shoulder. “What did Andreth say to thee on that spring morning so long ago, Child? Dost thou remember?”

“The Old Hope,” Finrod whispered still staring at the window. He turned to look at Fionwë. “Even then?” The Maia gave him an enquiring look. “Eru… even then he was planning this? Yet, you say, this happened a mere two thousand years ago. Why did He wait so long?”

Fionwë laughed. “Eru’s timing is always perfect, Findaráto. He came when he did and not earlier or later because that was the proper time for Him to do so.”

“But, there is no kingdom.”

“Not in the sense that you mean,” Fionwë said. “You know, you and He have something in common.”

“What do you mean?” Finrod asked in surprise.

“You’re not the only one to have given up his crown for a Mortal.”